


Days Worth Living

by multiplefandomfan



Series: Days Gone By [2]
Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Could just generally be triggering, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Child Abuse, Press Conference, Rape Recovery, Team as Family, Unproof-read, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiplefandomfan/pseuds/multiplefandomfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of continuation to 'Days'. Tony was kidnapped, missing for six weeks, and has now somehow returned by himself. His captors have apparently been holding some kind of threat over his head. You shouldn't hold threats over Tony's head - they make him think. </p><p>This is the story of how Tony reveals and comes to terms with his abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Worth Living

**Author's Note:**

> I’d prefer to receive no constructive criticism on this piece please (not that I’ve received any yet), but this is a deeply personal piece of work. When I replied to a comment on the AvengersKink livejournal thing, I explained that I had gone through some of the things Tony had. That was pretty much the first time I came out and obliquely said so without trying to disguise my wording. (Kind of a shame when I think that I'm on the other side of 30). So then I got to thinking about why I was ashamed of my past, and this story was born. So, basically, this is a deeply personal work which I’m still not certain that I’m going to post but I was feeling sort of bad about the full-on angst of the previous story, so… Yes. Thank you very much for all the kind comments on the previous story.
> 
>  
> 
> **Most importantly, please, if you're in/have been in a similar situation and need someone to talk to, feel free to drop me an email. Heck, if you just need someone to talk to drop me an email whether your situation has been similar or not. :) My email is in my profile.**
> 
>  
> 
> I have neither proof-read this, nor had it beta read. Has been written in literally one fell-swoop today.

“Tony!” Two hundred pounds of solid American muscle came barrelling out of the elevator, sharply followed by Bruce before shuddering into a stop so as to prevent running into the man who they had spent the last six weeks frantically looking for.

It had been so hard to believe JARVIS when he reported that Mr. Stark was spotted determinedly making his way towards the tower at a hobble. The man had been mysteriously lifted off the streets six weeks ago with minimal leads – Natasha, Clint and Thor had been out following up on one of those leads until moments ago when JARVIS had contacted them too. Steve expected them to show up shortly. 

“Tony!” he repeated, “Are you… What happened? Hold on, we can get you to a hospital.” He’d been about to ask if the other man was alright, but the answer was clear in the bruised countenance of the listing man before him. 

His face was grossly misshapen, evidence of the multitude of blows he must have taken to the face. Although he’d obviously had a chance to wash it down as there were several cuts but little trace of blood on his face. A bit under his left nostril, maybe? Though that could have just been the fact that the lower half of his face looked much darker due to the unfashionable beard it was now sporting. 

His pallor was …not good. And that was without being a doctor. His lips looked thin and bloodless in a way that they didn’t normally, that could either be down to shock or blood-loss. Both looked likely from the way he was swaying back and forth.

His clothes (some kind of ‘borrowed’ uniform from the way it didn’t fit him properly?) hid most of his other injuries, but the arm wrapped around his middle, the hunched shoulders and the out-of-shape fingers easily spoke their own story. 

If it had been any other person, Steve would have rushed over to immediately get an arm under their shoulders to support them and began barking orders for ambulances and the like.

Stark was… different. 

Steve didn’t know precisely what had happened to him in the past, the man never spoke of it, but the way he acted… it was obvious it hadn’t been good. The way his weight fluctuated (speaking of, he was looking plenty gaunt right now – almost to the point of reminding Steve of some of those POW camps he’d helped liberate. That was a comparison he’d never wanted, or expected, to make in this day and age).

Some days he seemed fine – bantering with Clint, flitting around his workshop like a hummingbird in heat… making sharp, pointed comments that demonstrated his shrewd business sense and keen intellect. Even on those days though… it was obvious. There was a fragility shimmering beneath the layer of skin. The truly horrific scars the man bore beneath his clothing only seconded that. 

It was a shame. Those days gave glimpses of the man whom Tony could have been if he’d had a different past. There was a sarcastic nature that was so eager to show its face, but the moment Tony said something he deemed too offensive it was as though he… switched off. He didn’t flinch or anything like that, he just… turned away. Inside himself. As though he were withdrawing behind a shield.

It was entirely possible that Steve would not have got on so well with the man Tony could have been; some of his actions did hint at the potential for high levels of arrogance but, again, every time he thought he reached that line? He just shut down. 

Then there were the far worse days when Tony could barely move for the pain he was in. Not that he ever really complained; Steve suspected it was due to the arc reactor embedded deep within his chest. Again. He didn’t really know. He knew the man struggled to breathe, and he did everything he could to try to help him on those days, after all, he knew all about breathing problems. 

Then there was the way he did avoid contact. It had taken Steve a while to realise that it was deliberate – the man’s evasions were so fluid that is often looked as though it was accidental. Yet the more time he spent with Tony, the more he saw it. Both Steve and Thor were men of an ilk who would quite happily clasp a comrade’s shoulders in praise or support. They did it subconsciously. Natasha had to speak sharply with the pair of them to get them to curtail their instincts. 

Mrs. Hogan, Pepper, as she was always insisting he call her, had also … strongly suggested they be careful with him. He was a fragile man who was far too easily swayed. He hated disagreeing with people, and would rarely disobey direct orders. Particularly from a male. Pepper had stringently suggested that they not take advantage of this, even unintentionally. 

Her unspoken threats were…effective. 

“No.” 

Was that whispered voice Tony? The hoarse sound to it made Steve’s own throat ache in sympathy and his fists clench with the want to touch the man, to make sure he was alright. He could see from the corner of his eyes by Bruce’s fluttering hands that the scientist-cum-doctor was equally eager to examine his friend.

“Pepper. Not… hospital. Call Pepper. Press conference. Front of the tower. Ninety minutes. Make up artist.” 

Steve winced. Those half sentences were so familiar. The man’s heaving chest made it clear that he was struggling to get in enough air.

“Tony…” Bruce tried to reason. “It can wait. You’re in no condition…”

A sharp hand motion cut whatever Bruce was trying to say short, even as the forceful movement caused Tony to wince. 

“ **No.** Inhaler. Can breathe better. Medication. Need to do this. Please.”

“Let him do it. JARVIS, sort it.” 

The words came from behind Tony and made all three of them jump even as they recognised Natasha’s distinctive tone. Tony flinched, spinning around in a move that made him gasp and nearly topple if not for Natasha’s swift grasping of his elbows. She, Pepper and Rhodey were the only ones who could get away with such actions, knowledge that the Widow used ruthlessly.

“Antoshka…”

Her eyes were filled with blatant concern as they raked up and down his battered form, seeing, no doubt, far more than Steve had been able to. 

“You are not well, my friend…” Thor (the man must have flown his team-mates here at a ridiculously fast pace to get them here so rapidly) murmured from behind Natasha’s shoulder, face dark with wrath at the state of one of his teammates. The one they were all secretly the most protective of.

“He can do this,” re-iterated Natasha, her gaze firm as she shot a hint of a glare at the God. “But he will do it with our help, yes, Tony? You don’t need it, I can see that, but you will let us help you nonetheless. Then you will receive medical care.”

Tony nodded, agreeing despite the lack of question in Natasha’s tone, still trying to get his breath back. It was a good compromise. Better than he’d hoped.

The Russian’s hard expression softened once more as it really only did when dealing with the billionaire. “Good. It is good to see you, my friend. Very good.” The past few weeks had not been pleasant as the whole team ran themselves ragged in their attempts to find the man. The media had not helped, speculating worse and worse theories. Natasha knew better than to read the papers, but seeing them blazing headlines such has ‘Has Stark’s luck ran out this time?’ made anger curl deep within her belly.

Clint had resorted to firing prank arrows at the windows of Fox News in a thoroughly unsubtle hint to get them to back off. That had been most satisfying even as she chastised him for it. He knew she approved really.

Speaking of, the archer took a step or two forward closer towards the lurching billionaire, hands held clear in the air to show him no harm was meant. “Hey Tones, man. It’s really, really good to see you. How about you let me and Tasha help you upstairs and we can get you ready, hey? Tasha will do a much better job than any trained monkey! JARVIS will sort everything else out, right Jarv?” 

“Indeed, Agent Barton.” Intoned the AI. “Events are already being set in motion and Mrs. Hogan reports she will be here within half an hour with Colonel Rhodes estimating he will be here within about two hours. Having analysed the Colonel’s previous behavioural patterns, I would estimate he will be here sooner than that. It is most good to see you again, Sir.” 

Tony’s lips curled into a smile, wincing as the motion tugged at several of the splits in his lip and begin to sluggishly ooze blood. “Equally, J. Please, Clint... Can you?” 

It was the ‘please’ that never failed to make Steve wince internally. Tony wasn’t using the ‘please’ just to be good-mannered, though that was no doubt part of it. It was as though part of him were expecting a denial. He never demanded anything. Heck, he rarely asked for anything, even. That he could be in this state and still feel that someone would reject giving him help…

“Of course.” Natasha replied for the archer, as she held out one arm in a loop, clearly expecting Tony to put one arm through it and accept the help he needed. The pointedly arced eyebrow just as clearly indicated that she would not accept any disagreements. 

That coaxed another half smile out of the billionaire, even as his tongue lapped out to clean the blood that was trying to form. He sluggishly moved his arm into Natasha’s, and the group began to make their glacially slow way towards the elevator. 

Not one of them paid any attention to the myriad of SI employees who had watched the events with open jaws and pleased expressions. Not one of the employees removed phones from pockets to document the events that had just unfolded, though many would have made a small fortune selling the pictures. No. They all respected their boss; rumours passed down to even the cleaners how supportive he was, how he had been seen in the laboratories helping the technicians, how no task was too menial for him. He’d even been seen cleaning corridors when there had been a nasty strain of flu running through the company.

Many expected that he brought his employees’ loyalty by paying them well and offering them decent privileges such as discounts of SI products. Few, including him, suspected that he bought it by being a good person. 

An hour later saw Bruce frowning in unspoken concern. It was the quickest patch-up job he’d ever done, and every injury revealed only made him more concerned. His doctor’s instincts were screaming at him to forbid this from happening. JARVIS’ scans had revealed that there were no immediately life threatening injuries, but Bruce had refused to calculate the percentage of deep bruising that covered his friends’ battered body (72.67%, some of which was still subdermal, JARVIS’ cool tones didn’t allow him not to know.)

The cracked ribs could break, after all, and puncture a lung. The soles of the body’s feet had been sliced to hell and back ( _how had he been able to walk? (_ earnt this right. Fought through fire and brimstone to get it, and Bruce would support him, even if made his instincts shudder and weep. 

That was what Natasha had seen in the lobby, and this was what Bruce saw now. Steve, he knew, still didn’t understand – Steve and Thor had waited outside the medical room so as few people saw Tony’s vulnerability as possible. 

So Bruce had wrapped bandages, and administered drugs, spread topical antibiotic cream (being careful to check with Tony before giving him anything – Tony had informed him months back of his drug and alcohol addictions). It went against his conscience as a doctor, it went against every fibre of his moral being. But he did it. 

Tony had just laid there pliantly – moving when asked too, and biting his lip to try to prevent any noises of pain from escaping him until Natasha offered him a rolled up bandage. He would periodically remove his oxygen mask to sip at a sugar-salt solution that was also being injected him via IV. He didn’t complain at the taste, relishing the sensation of cool liquid in his throat. 

Clint had asked when he’d last been fed, and the answer had been disturbingly uncertain. At least the …creatures… who’d held him had given him water. Too much water by the look of terror that had briefly crossed his expression. Waterboarding was a distinct possibility which could explain his lungs. Again. The subject was still dehydrated which seemed hardly fair.

Both the assassin’s faces had been disturbingly blank as the subject’s body was revealed. Bruce knew how much control it was taking them to not pester Tony with questions about what had happened to him, who had done this, was there _anything_ they could do. Natasha had been acting as a second pair of hands for Bruce whilst Clint had engaged Tony in mild conversation, keeping him distracted as best he could. 

If they were in immediate danger, then Tony would have let them know. Until then? He just needed their support. 

Just as Bruce looked like he was finishing up, Natasha dispatched Steve to go and make a small bowl of porridge and some plain white, unbuttered toast. Porridge would provide a slow release of energy that would help keep Tony upright, whilst the toast would offer a more short term solution of him feeling like he was full, particularly when the sugar-salt solution would cause the bread to swell slightly. If they had time then she’d have done him some chicken too for the protein, alas the press conference was only in half an hour and they still had to get the makeup done.

He’d have to be in a wheel-chair. That argument had already been had and decided on, it was one of the criteria that Bruce placed on the situation. It would be obvious that he had been hurt; Natasha would be able to disguise the worst of the swelling on his face, but not hide it completely. As soon as that point had been made, Tony acquiesced. 

Mental health vs. Physical. The balance was so tenuous. 

A short twenty-five minutes later saw everything as prepared as it could be. A small podium was present bearing a microphone and five chairs. It was situated just outside the Tower doors and was surrounded by a small crowd of impatient reporters and curious bystanders that the spectacle had drawn. 

Tony had been fed and freshly made up. He had initially worn one of his suits, but the cut of them only emphasised precisely how haggard and emaciated he looked. They settled for sweatpants and a long-sleeved over-shirt instead. The shirt was simpler to put on than a t-shirt, after all. Bruce had been happier with the choice too – the softer clothing should chafe less. The press could screw themselves if they made any comments about how casually dressed he was.

He looked… well, he did look better. Natasha had worked wonders to give him a bit of colour to his skin (Bruce really could not wait to get a blood transfusion going) and had somehow managed to make his bruises look less severe. 

Currently? The Avengers, Natasha withstanding, and Pepper were waiting just on the inside of the doors, clustered around the wheel-chair bound Tony who was placed securely in the centre of some of the most dangerous men and women of New York. The world, even. JARVIS had been in contact with Agent Coulson who had orchestrated a miraculously rapid security team who were ensuring that the location would remain secure. Natasha had expected no less of him. Orchestrating miracles was in his job description (literally – Clint had amended it), after all. 

Pepper had shown up about half an hour ago, had done the expected bursting into tears, but had pulled herself together impressively quickly with a snarled “Do **not** do that again, Mr. Stark.”

Natasha had been tempted to intercede, Tony, much as he was pretending otherwise, was not alright and the almost-anger was not what he needed right now. However, Pepper had known best, as usual and Tony had smiled hesitantly at her, “I’m sorry.” Was all he offered, which had nearly made Pepper cry once more. 

“You never need apologise to me, Tony.” She’d replied softly after a controlling breath or two, “you know that. Just… if you do, do that again, just please, _please_ make sure you come back.” 

It did not pass by any of their notices that Tony had changed the subject without giving her an affirmative response. After all, no one had ever claimed that he was an idiot.

The Black Widow, no Natasha Romanov here, walked over to the group, ensuring that her footsteps were loud enough that she startled no one. She was still annoyed by that slip earlier. “Coulson reports that everything is ready, the reporters know that you are to be speaking, and will not shout questions out or they will be forcibly removed. Shall we proceed?” she addressed Tony, ignoring the others. In spite of her ignoring them, she still witnessed Pepper open her mouth, and knew without a doubt that she was about to ask if Tony was certain he wanted to do this. 

She shot the other woman a toned-down glare and shook her head subtly, trusting in Tony’s slightly blurry vision to not notice the movement. He was equally protective over his ex-PA as she was him, after all. Tony did not need to be questioned right now, even if it was for all the right reasons. He needed their unfailing support. 

With a short, sharp nod (thank all the Gods for those painkillers – the movement looked relatively uncomfortable) Tony directed his gaze to the door. He took one breath (so much better than previously) followed by another and replied with a verbal “Let’s.”

Natasha took her place behind his chair as the team, fully suited up (other than Bruce) fanned out slightly to exit the door. Thor first, followed by Captain America, Clint, Bruce and then Natasha with Tony. Pepper had elected to remain inside the tower as this was Tony had assured her (without revealing what he wanted to talk about, irritatingly) that this conference was Stark-based rather than SI.

“Good luck, Antoshka. You will be fine.” Natasha whispered as she bent over the handlebars of his wheelchair and began to push the man out the doors and up the slope to the podium.

As expected, they were greeted by the flash of cameras, and several of the bystanders shouted out in surprise “Iron Man! Mr. Stark!” Only Natasha noticed the minute flinch the man gave at the upsurge of noise and light. The glance she sent towards the security team liberally scattered throughout the crowd swiftly sent them scurrying to speak to the people responsible. The noise died down satisfyingly quickly, only one man had to be escorted out. 

Coulson truly had brought his best, the reporters, she couldn’t help but notice, had remained pleasingly silent. 

Once the area had quieted down as much as New York City ever did (the commotion had drawn more people, unsurprisingly), Tony Stark began to speak.

“My father, Howard Stark, was not a good man.” He paused as a self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips unbidden. “It is good to say, that. I have never said it before. Haven’t really let myself, think it. I thought I should, say it, quickly.”

Steve blinked. That was certainly not what he expected to come out of his friend’s mouth, even if the words were not a surprise in of themselves. A part of him noticed with pleasure how much easier it was for Tony to speak now, even if he was purposefully using short phrasing. The man’s words were ever so slightly slurred due to the pain medication he had taken, but Tony was so far managing to disguise that fact impressively well. Steve felt a flair of pride run through him. 

“I thank you for coming, on such short notice. As you can see. I am alive, though not well. I will be soon. Recent weeks have not been… pleasant. One of the threats held over me, was about revealing an element of, my past. I… preferred to keep it secret. I was, well, I was ashamed. Embarrassed… guilty, too.”

Tony had to pause for a moment to catch his breath, but the ever-increasing crowd did not protest. Steve would have liked to have said that he could hear a pin drop in the area, but due to their location that was impossible. There was a low murmur running prevalent through the mass, but mostly they stayed respectfully quiet. Pity was clear on several faces, concern on others. On whole? There was a supportive atmosphere to the crowd.

Nonetheless, Steve would keep a sharp eye out for trouble, as were the rest of the team, he was certain. They still knew far too little about Tony’s escape and captors, after all.

After a moments respite, Tony continued, his voice pitched at a solemn tone, despite the continual rasp, that he rarely adopted. It was a good choice, people were listening.

“So. My father. I called him Howard. He. He. He was abusive.” 

Natasha, though the news was not new to her, couldn’t help but notice the ‘to me’ was left unsaid. Either that meant that Howard had been abusive to Tony’s mother as well, or he was unable to link the action to himself in his mind. Maybe he needed the distance? This was something she _would_ help him come to terms with.

“He drank too much.” Again, that ridiculous self-deprecating smile. The man beside her had better not be comparing himself to his father just because they both had addictions… “When he drank, he became violent. Then called his private, doctor to fix what he broke.” 

Again, a moments respite passed unhindered by noise from the crowd which now included various news reporters as well. 

“He. He did other things, too. He. He.” Tony closed his eyes briefly, a surge of weariness riding over him. Why could he not say the damn word? What was so hard about a word! Damn his weakness. He. He couldn’t do this! 

A moment later he re-opened his eyes to a new body on the podium. His Knight in metallic-grey armour. Rhodey, in a far more casual jeans and t-shirt, directed a smile at him filled with reassurance and relief and everything that Rhodey always made him feel.

Tony’s flagging confidence grew once more, hardening into iron. 

“He had se- no, he raped me. For fourteen years, twice, three times a week. More. When I escaped to, MIT at sixteen, he did it. In my. Vacation. Until. They died. My mother took drugs. And drank so she, could pretend not, see.” 

Were those his hands shaking? He noticed abstractedly, his legs certainly felt like they wouldn’t be able to hold him even if he were standing. A small, feminine hand laid itself on his shoulder and squeezed gently. _Natasha_ he identified instantaneously. One of his red-headed angels. 

He could no longer look at the crowd, or his friends, or his team. He had hypothesised about how they would react, but could not bear to look at them to confirm it. Instead, he kept his eyes trained fixedly on his hands, ignoring the second gentle squeeze from Natasha.

“Then, Obi Stane, continued. No sex” he’d said the word once, and genuinely didn’t believe he could make himself say it again. “But manipu-ulation. He wanted SI. Wanted me weak. Succeeded. I still, doubt myself. Even now. Then he, arranged to have me, killed.” 

One hand, and yes, it was trembling, reached up to tap where his arc reacted protruded from his chest, coming out all the further due to his current lack of spare fat. 

“I don’t like eating. Make, myself sick. Or don’t eat. To be weak. Being strong, that, that is desirable.” He left it unspoken that he didn’t want to feel that way. 

“That is what my, captors were to release to you all. My shame. I, I have blocked their, devices. And told you first. I have had time over recent weeks, to think. And wonder. I told no one. Because I was ashamed. They said I, I should be, ashamed. It was, my, fault. I try to, not believe, villains. So where should, my shame be? Only in that, I did not, come forward before. Did not, offer support to, other… sufferers. Proof you can, survive.”

Pause. Another breath.

“I feel my injuries, now. In my head. And, physical injuries. But I am alive. I was. Am. Scared of how, people would react. Look at me with pity. Not think, I can do, my job. Iron Man. SI. Why, did I let it, happen for so many years? Abusers, they get into your, your head. You know it’s wrong, but you, you have to hide it. To protect, the family name. Honor. You think that, people will _pity_ you.” The disgust that word alone was infused with.

His cheeks were damp with sweat. His whole body was expelling all the moisture he’d recently taken in.

“No. Name. is worth it. The person doing, the actions, they are the shame. Because of this, those I, I trust are on this stage. I. I had not told them before. Though they suspected, I think.”

Natasha could not stop the nod, a confirmation even if Tony couldn’t see it. Right now? She didn’t think she could ever have been prouder of the man beside her, or anyone. He may have not noticed, but his tone was taking on a strength behind the solemnity it had held previously. He was sitting straighter as though his injuries weren’t bothering him as much. He may not have been able to look up, instead keeping his head ducked and eyes closed, but he would. 

“I think that, that is what I. I needed to say. I did not want my, captors to make others, feel they should, be ashamed.”

He appeared lost, for a moment, not knowing how to end his speech, not daring to look up.

“They shouldn’t.” he ended up mumbling, posture and expression both crumpling as his good hand flew to his bowed head to catch the tears suddenly cascading down it. “They shouldn’t.” 

The same silence as before rang through the audience, no one quite knowing what to do, until one lone man towards the back of the crowd began to clap. Just a tourist with sign of a fading bruise on his arm.

Soon the applause spread through the rest of crowd, some wiping at their own dampened cheeks whilst Iron Man wept openly on stage.


End file.
